by Robert Burns
While simple melody pour’d moving on the heart.
The Genius of the Stream in front appears,
A venerable Chief advanc’d in years;
His hoary head with water-lilies crown’d,
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. 215
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;
Then, crown’d with flow’ry hay, came Rural Joy,
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye;
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 220
Led yellow Autumn wreath’d with nodding corn;
Then Winter’s time-bleach’d locks did hoary show,
By Hospitality with cloudless brow:
Next followed Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide; 225
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air,
A female form, came from the tow’rs of Stair;
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode,
From simple Catrine, their long-lov’d abode:
Last, white-rob’d Peace, crown’d with a hazel wreath, 230
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath
The broken, iron instruments of death:
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
134.
The Night was Still (Fragment of a Song)
THE NIGHT was still, and o’er the hill
The moon shone on the castle wa’;
The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang
Around her on the castle wa’;
Sae merrily they danced the ring 5
Frae eenin’ till the cock did craw;
And aye the o’erword o’ the spring
Was “Irvine’s bairns are bonie a’.”
Chronological List of Poems
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135.
Epigram on Rough Roads
I’M now arrived — thanks to the gods! —
Thro’ pathways rough and muddy,
A certain sign that makin roads
Is no this people’s study:
Altho’ Im not wi’ Scripture cram’d, 5
I’m sure the Bible says
That heedless sinners shall be damn’d,
Unless they mend their ways.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
136.
Prayer — O Thou Dread Power
Lying at a reverend friend’s house one night, the author left the following verses in the room where he slept: —
O THOU dread Power, who reign’st above,
I know thou wilt me hear,
When for this scene of peace and love,
I make this prayer sincere.
The hoary Sire — the mortal stroke, 5
Long, long be pleas’d to spare;
To bless this little filial flock,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears, 10
O bless her with a mother’s joys,
But spare a mother’s tears!
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth.
In manhood’s dawning blush,
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, 15
Up to a parent’s wish.
The beauteous, seraph sister-band —
With earnest tears I pray —
Thou know’st the snares on ev’ry hand,
Guide Thou their steps alway. 20
When, soon or late, they reach that coast,
O’er Life’s rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wand’rer lost,
A family in Heaven!
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
137.
Farewell to the Banks of Ayr (Song)
Tune— “Roslin Castle.”
“I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.” — R. B.
THE GLOOMY night is gath’ring fast,
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o’er the plain;
The hunter now has left the moor. 5
The scatt’red coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
The Autumn mourns her rip’ning corn
By early Winter’s ravage torn; 10
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly:
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave;
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare, 15
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.
‘Tis not the surging billow’s roar,
‘Tis not that fatal, deadly shore;
Tho’ death in ev’ry shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear: 20
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierc’d with many a wound;
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonie banks of Ayr.
Farewell, old Coila’s hills and dales, 25
Her healthy moors and winding vales;
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!
Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those: 30
The bursting tears my heart declare —
Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr!
Chronological List of Poems
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138.
Address to the Toothache
MY curse upon your venom’d stang,
That shoots my tortur’d gums alang,
An’ thro’ my lug gies mony a twang,
Wi’ gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi’ bitter pang, 5
Like racking engines!
When fevers burn, or argues freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes,
Our neibor’s sympathy can ease us,
Wi’ pitying moan; 10
But thee — thou hell o’ a’ diseases —
They mock our groan.
Adown my beard the slavers trickle
I throw the wee stools o’er the mickle,
While round the fire the giglets keckle, 15
To see me loup,
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were in their doup!
In a’ the numerous human dools,
Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools, 20
Or worthy frien’s rak’d i’ the mools, —
Sad sight to see!
The tricks o’ knaves, or fash o’fools,
Thou bear’st the gree!
Where’er that place be priests ca’ hell, 25
Where a’ the tones o’ misery yell,
An’ ranked plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu’ raw,
Thou, TOOTHACHE, surely bear’st the bell,
Amang them a’! 30
O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes o’ discord squeel,
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel
In gore, a shoe-thick,
Gie a’ the faes o’ SCOTLAND’S weal 35
A townmond’s toothache!
Chronological List of Poems
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139.
Lines on Meeting with Lord Daer
THIS wot ye all whom it concerns,
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,
October twenty-third,
A ne’er-to-be-forgotten day,
Sae far I sprackl’d up the
brae, 5
I dinner’d wi’ a Lord.
I’ve been at drucken writers’ feasts,
Nay, been bitch-fou ‘mang godly priests —
Wi’ rev’rence be it spoken! —
I’ve even join’d the honour’d jorum, 10
When mighty Squireships of the quorum,
Their hydra drouth did sloken.
But wi’ a Lord! — stand out my shin,
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl’s son!
Up higher yet, my bonnet 15
An’ sic a Lord! — lang Scoth ells twa,
Our Peerage he o’erlooks them a’,
As I look o’er my sonnet.
But O for Hogarth’s magic pow’r!
To show Sir Bardie’s willyart glow’r, 20
An’ how he star’d and stammer’d,
When, goavin, as if led wi’ branks,
An’ stumpin on his ploughman shanks,
He in the parlour hammer’d.
I sidying shelter’d in a nook, 25
An’ at his Lordship steal’t a look,
Like some portentous omen;
Except good sense and social glee,
An’ (what surpris’d me) modesty,
I markèd nought uncommon. 30
I watch’d the symptoms o’ the Great,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,
The arrogant assuming;
The fient a pride, nae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 35
Mair than an honest ploughman.
Then from his Lordship I shall learn,
Henceforth to meet with unconcern
One rank as weel’s another;
Nae honest, worthy man need care 40
To meet with noble youthful Daer,
For he but meets a brother.
Chronological List of Poems
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140.
Masonic Song — Ye Sons of Old Killie
Tune— “Shawn-boy,” or “Over the water to Charlie.”
YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
To sit in that honoured station.
I’ve little to say, but only to pray, 5
As praying’s the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from thee Muse you well may excuse
‘Tis seldom her favourite passion.
Ye powers who preside o’er the wind, and the tide,
Who markèd each element’s border; 10
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order: —
Within this dear mansion, may wayward Contention
Or witherèd Envy ne’er enter;
May secrecy round be the mystical bound, 15
And brotherly Love be the centre!
Chronological List of Poems
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141.
Tam Samson’s Elegy
“An honest man’s the noblest work of God” — POPE.
When this worthy old sportman went out, last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian’s phrase, “the last of his fields,” and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed his elegy and epitaph. — R. B., 1787.
HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the deil?
Or great Mackinlay thrawn his heel?
Or Robertson again grown weel,
To preach an’ read?
“Na’ waur than a’! cries ilka chiel, 5
“Tam Samson’s dead!”
Kilmarnock lang may grunt an’ grane,
An’ sigh, an’ sab, an’ greet her lane,
An’ cleed her bairns, man, wife, an’ wean,
In mourning weed; 10
To Death she’s dearly pay’d the kane —
Tam Samson’s dead!
The Brethren, o’ the mystic level
May hing their head in woefu’ bevel,
While by their nose the tears will revel, 15
Like ony bead;
Death’s gien the Lodge an unco devel;
Tam Samson’s dead!
When Winter muffles up his cloak,
And binds the mire like a rock; 20
When to the loughs the curlers flock,
Wi’ gleesome speed,
Wha will they station at the “cock?”
Tam Samson’s dead!
When Winter muffles up his cloak, 25
He was the king o’ a’ the core,
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,
Or up the rink like Jehu roar,
In time o’ need;
But now he lags on Death’s “hog-score” — 30
Tam Samson’s dead!
Now safe the stately sawmont sail,
And trouts bedropp’d wi’ crimson hail,
And eels, weel-ken’d for souple tail,
And geds for greed, 35
Since, dark in Death’s fish-creel, we wail
Tam Samson’s dead!
Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a’;
Ye cootie muircocks, crousely craw;
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu’ braw 40
Withouten dread;
Your mortal fae is now awa;
Tam Samson’s dead!
That woefu’ morn be ever mourn’d,
Saw him in shooting graith adorn’d, 45
While pointers round impatient burn’d,
Frae couples free’d;
But och! he gaed and ne’er return’d!
Tam Samson’s dead!
In vain auld age his body batters, 50
In vain the gout his ancles fetters,
In vain the burns cam down like waters,
An acre braid!
Now ev’ry auld wife, greetin, clatters
“Tam Samson’s dead!” 55
Owre mony a weary hag he limpit,
An’ aye the tither shot he thumpit,
Till coward Death behind him jumpit,
Wi’ deadly feid;
Now he proclaims wi’ tout o’ trumpet, 60
“Tam Samson’s dead!”
When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reel’d his wonted bottle-swagger,
But yet he drew the mortal trigger,
Wi’ weel-aimed heed; 65
“L — d, five!” he cry’d, an’ owre did stagger —
Tam Samson’s dead!
Ilk hoary hunter mourn’d a brither;
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan’d a father;
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 70
Marks out his head;
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether,
“Tam Samson’s dead!”
There, low he lies, in lasting rest;
Perhaps upon his mould’ring breast 75
Some spitefu’ muirfowl bigs her nest
To hatch an’ breed:
Alas! nae mair he’ll them molest!
Tam Samson’s dead!
When August winds the heather wave, 80
And sportsmen wander by yon grave,
Three volleys let his memory crave,
O’ pouther an’ lead,
Till Echo answer frae her cave,
“Tam Samson’s dead!” 85
Heav’n rest his saul whare’er he be!
Is th’ wish o’ mony mae than me:
He had twa fauts, or maybe three,
Yet what remead?
Ae social, honest man want we: 90
Tam Samson’s dead!
THE EPITAPH
Tam Samson’s weel-worn clay here lies
Ye canting zealots, spare him!
If honest worth in Heaven rise,
Ye’ll mend or ye win near him. 95
PER CONTRA
Go, Fame, an’ canter like a filly
Thro’ a’ the streets an’ neuks o’ Killie;
Tell ev’ry social honest billie
For, yet unskaithed by Death’s gleg gullie. 100
Tam Samson’s leevin’!
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
142.
Epistle to Major Logan
HAIL, thairm-inspirin’, rattlin’ Willie!
Tho’ fortune’s road be rough an’ hilly
To every fiddling, rhyming billie,
We never heed,
But take it like the unback’d filly, 5
Proud o’ her speed.
When, idly goavin’, whiles we saunter,
Yirr! fancy barks, awa we canter,
Up hill, down brae, till some mischanter,
Some black bog-hole, 10
Arrests us; then the scathe an’ banter
We’re forced to thole.
Hale be your heart! hale be your fiddle!
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle,
To cheer you through the weary widdle 15
O’ this wild warl’.
Until you on a crummock driddle,
A grey hair’d carl.
Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon,
Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tune, 20
And screw your temper-pins aboon
A fifth or mair
The melancholious, lazy croon
O’ cankrie care.
May still your life from day to day, 25
Nae “lente largo” in the play,